


Performance Review

by Multikicker



Series: Slipstream Incident(s) [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 0100 sad fic hours, Agent Slipstream, I'm so sorry, Post-Mission Debriefing, Talon Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Talon!Tracer, apologies to literally everyone involved, why the hell do I do this to myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 20:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21308465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multikicker/pseuds/Multikicker
Summary: Slipstream is the best. Or so she was made to be.Even the best make mistakes, though.And every mission has a debriefing.
Series: Slipstream Incident(s) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539325
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Performance Review

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in a long while, after going through some stuff I'm trying to get my writing skills un-rusted and my force of will topped up, so apologies for any gratuitous run-on sentences or excessive use of rather large words.

'At midnight, all the agents and the superhuman crew, go out and round up everyone who knows more than they do.'

\- Bob Dylan, "Desolation Row"

'Report.' The word was sharp, like a blade, and cold as the woman who spoke it. Reflexively, Slipstream lowered her eyes, staring down at her hands where they lay folded in her lap. 'Mission complete,' she murmured, fixing her eyes on the point where the fingers interlocked.  
'Review the mission parameters,' the cold woman snapped, swiping through a document on the tablet she clutched in her hands. Raising her eyes to the woman opposite the table at which she sat, Slipstream sat up a little straighter. 'Mission directive: terminate the Shambali Monk, Tekhartha Zenyatta. Primary directive: eliminate Tekharta Zenyatta before his motorcade reaches the United Nations security checkpoint. Secondary objective: return to headquarters alive. Tertiary objective: ...............................I was instructed to "send a message."' Her mouth twitched slightly, the words bringing back the vestige of some long-forgotten emotion. 'And?' asked the cold woman, making eye contact for the first time. Her eyes were shot through with yellow, and she made Slipstream feel something whenever she looked at her.  
If she had not been perfectly engineered to never experience emotion, Slipstream would have said it was fear. But fear was for lesser individuals.  
'Primary directive: complete.' she replied, looking up at the cold woman. 'Tekhartha Zenyatta was eliminated on the steps of the United Nations building in London at 1995 hours. The first round pierced his chest, fragmenting his circuitry and damaging his internal power core. The second and third shots in succession ventilated his head and the cogitators within, rendering him inoperable and beyond repair.'

_*SLAP*_

The strike to the face came from nowhere, and it stung her. Judging by the force of the blow, Slipstream expected it would begin bruising within moments. The yellow eyes were blazing, burning with fury. There was that emotion again, like a bolt of lightning. It was disquieting.  
'You required more than one shot.'  
  
It was not a question.  
  
'The target was well guarded. Angles were poor, hence multiple kill-shots were required to render him beyond recovery, as well as to pierce the guard of his attendants.' It was the truth, of course, but that did not erase the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.  
Reaching out with a blue-skinned hand, the cold woman cupped Slipstream's chin with her hand. She was smiling, but it did not reach her eyes.  
'You are afraid of me, and you are ashamed that you were not skilled enough to end it with a single shot. This is true, non?'  
'I do not experience emotions, Agent Widowmaker,' she responded, stilling her hands to prevent them from shaking.  
Narrowing her eyes, Widowmaker tightened her grip on her chin, nails digging into the skin.  
'That is a lie, cherie.' Somehow, she made the word hold no feeling at all. 'You are experiencing them right now. It is good. You do not like them, oui? You do not enjoy the sting of defeat?'  
The sick feeling was getting worse. 'No, ma'am. I do not enjoy them.'  
'Good. Such is the price for failure. Succeed, however, and you need never feel them again.'  
  
Releasing her, Widowmaker leaned back into her chair and picked the tablet back up.  
'And the secondary and tertiary directives?'  
Blinking, Slipstream, sat back up at attention. 'Secondary directive: return to headquarters. I have returned and am currently engaged in this debrief with you, ma'am. I am uninjured, at full operational functionality, and ready for reassignment. Tertiary directive: "send a message." The Tekhartha was minutes away from a press conference and was surrounded by civilians, security personnel, and demonstrating protestors when I fulfilled my primary directive, ma'am. Does that meet Talon's criteria under this circumstance?'  
  
The edges of Widowmaker's mouth turned up in a smile again, but this time her eyes were bright with feeling. Was it pride?  
Slipstream wanted it to be pride. She wanted to do well, to be a good weapon.  
It was what she was made for, her.......purpose.  
  
'It does, yes. Congratulations, cherie.' Stowing the tablet, Widowmaker rose and pushed in her chair. 'You have managed to not be an abject failure. Report to myself and Doctor O'Deorain in Laboratory 3 tomorrow at 0600 hours for reeducation.'  
Leaning over, she kissed Slipstream on the brow, before whispering in her ear.  
'You will be keeping these feelings, cherie. Next time................'  
  
**'Do better.'**

  
Pulling back, she turned, and left the room.  
  
Slumping down into her chair, Slipstream shuddered, the sick feeling in her stomach roiling like a storm in a bottle.  
She didn't like it, feeling like this. She didn't like feeling in general. It wasn't _right._  
  
Turning, she stared into the glass of the room's window.  
Staring back was a woman with blue skin and yellow eyes, a jagged shock of violet hair topping her head.  
  
In the centre of her chest, a dull red light burned like a hot coal.  
  
"Next time, it'll be clean," Slipstream murmured to herself, as she stared out over the water below.  
  
One shot. One kill.

**Author's Note:**

> I might do more in this universe at some point. I know it's kind of unoriginal but I wanted to do something nice and simple to get the ol' brain-cogs moving again.
> 
> Thanks for reading, folks, and remember: the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice.


End file.
